


If At First

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Consent, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Time, FitzSimmons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6725044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UA of FitzSimmons' first time (and Fitz' First Time) ft. thirsty!Jemma, explicit consent and roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first 2 parts were written inspired by the FS (First) Kiss promo pics (3x08), and the upcoming third part (if I keep my nerves) will be inspired by the illustrious FS Frick Frack (3x18). Encouragement especially welcome bc smut is scary.

“How are things going with Fitz?” Daisy asks, frowning slightly as she stirs the chocolate sauce into her icecream.

“Fine.” Simmons’ small near-permanent smile lights up like it tends to when she talks about him. “Beautiful, actually. Why do you ask?”

Smiling now too, Daisy teases,

“I don’t know, I don’t see you ogling him as much any more…”

“You have a poor data sample,” Simmons points out. “You’re hardly ever here.”

“Records also indicate PDAs in the lab have decreased dramatically in the last few days.”

“Records?”

“I have my sources.” They both know who said ‘sources’ are.

As Simmons drops herself onto the cushion beside Daisy, Daisy sits up straighter, kidnapping the remote so Simmons can’t distract them both with some film or other.

“Seriously, though. What’s up?”

“Nothing! Honestly!” Simmons protests. Quickly, her eyes drop. Out of the corner of her mouth she mutters, “Just…frustration….”

For a moment, Daisy’s about to jump down Coulson’s throat about him shutting them down – but Simmons’ cheeks flush red, and it occurs to her all of a sudden what might be going on. Her gentle smile grows into a teasing smirk.

“Oh, I see,” she remarks. “It’s Third Date time.”

Simmons scoffs. “It doesn’t happen on a – on a – schedule…”

Daisy just laughs.

“How long have you been trying?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, man.”

“I know.” Simmons squeezes her eyes shut. “It’s great. It is. And I don’t want to rush him or anything but-“

“But you wanna jump his bones.”

“Mm, I _really do_.” Simmons groans. “We have done _so_ much kissing, and, well, I love kissing, but just when it gets to that point where, y’know, where you can’t really breathe and you’re all…” She gestures a haze around her head, relishing the fresh memory of the feeling. “…and it just fizzles out. He just walks off. I don’t know how he does it…I don’t know _why_ he does it…it’s like it hasn’t even registered to him that, y’know, _that,_ is a possibility now.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t consider that it is.”

Simmons frowns. Then shuffles, so that she can see Daisy’s face better.

“What do you mean? We’ve been together for months now. He knows I trust him, he knows I’d stop anything that was making me uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, but…maybe that’s not the way Fitz thinks about sex.”

Simmons continues to frown questioningly. Daisy huffs and sets her melting bowl of icecream on the coffee table, then draws her knees up so that she’s facing Simmons more definitely. The paused television screen is abandoned entirely as Simmons mimics Daisy.

“What I mean is,” Daisy explains. “Sex is probably a big deal for Fitz. Y’know? He was always that weedy nerd kid, wasn’t he? Not nubile-young-prodigy material. Exposing himself like that could be really painful. Especially to somebody he trusts so much. The stakes are really high, you know?”

Simmons nods. “That’s true. He’s always been awkward about his body. Never got the positive attention about it that I did, I suppose. But he already knows I think he’s attractive.”

Simmons blushes at her own, pathetically honest words. _Pasty…handsome…_ He’s less pasty now. A little bit. And infinitely more handsome; he still has the quiet grace of movement he had back then, but now, with more muscles and a well-cut jaw line. For a moment, she revels in the familiar, chest-swelling feeling that she did _good_ , and that she can’t quite believe nobody has beaten her to him. But then she gets to thinking. Slowly, it dawns on her.

“Oh, god,” Simmons groans.

“I know. Going slow can suck.”

“No, I mean oh god I’m an idiot.” Simmons clenches her eyes closed. “This would be his first time with me, but he’s never had any other girlfriends. And does Fitz seem like the one-night-stand type to you? No. It’s- It’s probably his _First Time_. He doesn’t want to waste it against a window or a lab bench; he probably doesn’t even know _how_ to do that. I’m an _idiot._ ”

Daisy snorts with laughter, imagining the increasingly frustrated Simmons hinting as hard as humanly possible and being left desperately hanging while Fitz – chivalrous, or perhaps completely oblivious – walks away unharmed.

“Relax, Jemma,” Daisy advises. “He’s probably picking up on your signals and got some grand plan in the works, with roses and candles and all that jazz.”

“That’s a brilliant idea.”

“What? No, I said _he_ -“

“And he might. But I’m going to beat him to it,” Simmons resolves. “He has beaten me to every romantic milestone so far. He’s better at gift giving. He’s better at breakfast.” Her face lights up. “I’m better at sex. And so help me, he’s going to have the most _orgasmic_ first time of his life.”

She grins at Daisy, waiting for the inevitable face crinkle.

“Eeewww _whyyyyyyyy.”_

Simmons laughs. Daisy grabs a cushion and shoves it at her.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wow…”’

Fitz swings his jacket off, looking around in awe at the hotel room Simmons has booked out for them. It’s easily twice the size of his room on base, which in itself is nice, but somebody’s also gone to an effort to make it up. The carpet is hotel-room-beige, and the rest of the décor suggests the bed should be made up in one of those floral-imitation-blotch-pattern duvets – but the cover is white. And littered with rose petals.

Simmons takes a deep breath. _Here goes._

“They, um. They’d usually do this in a bigger room on a higher floor with lots of windows, but I thought you might feel more comfortable, um. You know, with more privacy and…stuff…”

_Excellent seduction Jemma. Smooth._

She actually had seen the room upstairs. It was gorgeous. But she couldn’t imagine anything worse for Fitz than being forced to expose himself in front of an entire city, whether they were watching or not. Besides, this room was fairly homey and dressed up nice. There were even a pair of candles on each beside table, some scented oils, and…oh heavens.

“Jemma,” Fitz asks. He’s seen them too. “Are those..?”

She lunges forward and grabs them, but what else can she do? It’s even more obvious now. He can probably read the packet as he steps in after her, and she turns to face him.

“Okay, full disclosure,” she confesses. “I have…ulterior motives, with tonight. Well, with this part of the night. The rest was totally non-ulterior. Just this part.”

“What are you talking about?”

She sucks in a breath. Given the string of tiny packets dangling from her hands it must be fairly obvious. Maybe it just hasn’t hit him yet. Which is good, probably, because she has really got to get herself together.

“I’m propositioning you, Fitz.”

She fixes her eyes on his. Watches them dart down to what she’s holding, then back up to her face. Over her shoulder to the bed, then back to her face.

“Oh.”

“Well actually I’ve been propositioning you for a few weeks now but it wasn’t doing anything so I thought-“ _Babbling, Jemma._ “So. I thought. I’d try something else. Make it special. No pressure, of course. Just – y’know – we’re not going to be interrupted, we had a good day…”

_(Maybe a little pressure. Please for the love of Gallifrey be okay with this.)_

“I…I don’t…”

Her heart starts hammering. And to think she’d honestly believed he was the one to be careful about leaving exposed tonight.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he finally manages, and she almost sighs out loud. It comes out as airy laughter.

“That’s fine. That’s absolutely fine. We can work with that.”

“Okay, then…yes, I accept your proposition? Is that how this works?” He laughs a little, because of course it’s not. It’s usually much more subtle than that. It’s usually making out and breathless whispers and falling over each other on the way to the bedroom. Getting lost in each other.

Simmons runs her hand over his shirt, over his chest. She leans up on her toes to kiss him. He moves his arms to embrace her and lean in, but it’s just a swift kiss, and then she directs him toward the bed.

“Go take off…whatever you want to take off…and we’ll start from there,” she instructs. “I’m popping to the bathroom for a minute to put on something a little more _comfortable._ ”

She slips away, and Fitz is left staring at the petal-covered bed, his mind bizarrely blank. He wishes she’d given him more specific instructions. Was she expecting him to be nude when she returned? Or perhaps just in his underwear? Or more than that? Taking the clothes off as part of the act was supposed to be fun, right? And what was he supposed to be doing in however much clothing he was wearing? Posing? Oh, Lord.

Well she clearly wasn’t expecting him to be smooth, or skilled, or sexy in any way - which was a tremendous relief, really. He hadn’t been doing super well so far and the sight of her in whatever it is she’s putting on at this very moment could possibly short circuit his entire brain. Perhaps it’s best then, he thinks, to just start very tame and move things up if and when they escalate. Heart hammering, he discards his jacket and his bag, and moves to the bed.

-

Meanwhile, Simmons is examining the selections of lingerie hanging from the shower rod. There are a couple of sexy-Star-Trek outfits (but mercifully, no slave-Leia), and a fierce black thing she would love to try out at some point when Fitz is less susceptible to having a heart attack at the exposure of her knees. She shuffles through a few of the less-raunchy, more-dainty options, and settles on a baby-blue babydoll singlet that finishes in frills just below her hips, leaving most of her thighs bare and just teasing at a view of the matching underwear. She swishes the babydoll in the mirror, and grins at the way it rises, the feeling of it brushing lightly against her already-tingling skin. Checking her hair and make-up one final time, she eyes herself seriously in the mirror.

“Remain calm,” she instructs herself. “Be gentle. Be tame. Be amazing.”

She shakes her hair out – she can’t resist a little tease – and re-enters the bedroom.

-

In all this time, Fitz has managed to remove his shoes and socks, and undo one button further down from the top. He’s probably been lying there for a while. Perhaps he was posed originally, but now he’s distracted, lifting rose petals off the covers and watching them fall through his fingers. After a few seconds more, he notices the other presence in the room. He’s hesitant to look – she can see it – but when he does, it’s breathtaking: like every other time he’s looked at her, but intensified. Magnified by vulnerability and desire and the unfathomability of it all. Simmons almost feels like blushing under his awestruck gaze as she clocks every tiny movement his body makes. He seems automatically drawn toward her. His eyes widen, his pupils swell. His jaw hangs just a little loose.

 _“Jemma…”_ he breathes at last, and she feels a chill run through her. She smiles, hopefully a balance between gentle and teasing, as she climbs back onto the bed and crawls over to him.

“No pressure,” she reminds him. “Just an idea.”

An idea that Fitz, apparently, likes. A lot.

Fitz sits more upright against the headboard, so that he can pull her onto his lap and hold her as he buries his hand in her hair and guides her lips against his. Her hands undo the rest of his buttons and fly over his chest, so that she can feel his skin, and the taught muscles rippling underneath it as he works with her, against her, breathing her in.

He embraces her with both arms, shuddering at the feeling of the tauntingly light material and her bare skin – so much bare skin – he wants to kiss his way down her arms but she doesn’t let him. She takes control of the kiss, moving her hands up to his neck to angle his head differently, fight with his tongue, feel his breath accelerate with the desire to keep up. She kisses her way down his cheek and chin, down his neck. She starts kissing harder, driven, excited, scraping his skin with her teeth. He jumps, and instinctively pushes her away a little. Breathless, she apologises and runs her tongue over the places she’s pinched him.

His head lolls back against the headboard, giving her greater access to his neck. She can hear his breath shudder, feel his fiery grip on her back weaken. This is the point in their makeout sessions – the heady clouded point – where he usually lets it all drop away back into calm. Like taking a dangerous corner, Simmons slows down a little, grabs at him less. She slides a hand back under his shirt and runs it over his back, scraping just a little, unable to resist the drive to grab at him, to love him with as much power and strength as possible. He makes a quiet, whimpering sound and she smiles against his skin, which is beginning to sheen with sweat.

“Don’t hold back,” she encourages gently, pulling back for a moment so that she can look firmly into his vaguely dazed eyes. “Sounds are nice. They let me know I’m doing a good job.”

He nods, flushed and breathing heavily. Her whole body is screaming at her to go faster, to just dive in and feed the raging hunger, but she quells it into heavy breathing too. She nods down at his shirt.

“D’you mind if we take this off?”

He can’t decide whether to answer positively or negatively to achieve what he wants, so he sits up straighter so that she can pull the material over his head and toss it aside. She sits back, and spends a long moment letting her eyes wander over his torso, now properly exposed. He’s propped up on his own arms now, unable to shy away from her, and perhaps unwilling to; his pupils are blown wide, his eyes fixed on her, observing - relishing, even – the way she takes him in. The way her own pupils swell, her own jaw drops slightly, surprise and arousal proving a potent combination. He’s got impressive shoulders and pectorals; everything she was promised by how his clothing fit and pulled and moved. He’s even getting defined abdominals. She reaches forward and touches them, undeniably in awe. How did that pasty – if handsome - boy she knew, become this?

 _Because of you,_ answers a voice in the back of her mind. _For you._

She can’t help it; she grinds against him as a flush of heat runs through her.

 _“HOLY-!”_ His eyes almost roll back in his head. “What the hell was that?”

She grinds her hips down again, more slowly, so that he can track the electricity that flows between them and where it goes and what it’s doing. Experimentally, he rolls his hips in reply, and her eyelids flutter, and she groans quietly, which makes him smile.

“Don’t hold back,” he repeats quietly, moving one hand to hold her hips against him as he does it again. “I want to know when I’m doing a good job.”

She groans louder this time, almost letting her eyelids flutter closed as his fingers sneak under the frills of the babydoll and tease at the edges of her underwear.

“You’re wet,” he observes, his voice low and breathless, but probably a little honestly puzzled. Even high on the thrill from her own grinding against his hips and fingers, she can’t help smiling at his innocence.

“That’s what happens,” she explains, breathless, desperately trying to keep a slow and steady pace. “When we, when women get – “

She cuts herself off as his fingers wander down between her thighs. If she wanted to, she could teach him to finish her right there and then. It’s tempting, and she’s so close, and his fingers can’t help but explore everything they touch. And oh, it would be useful for later, for in bed, for in the lab… Her breath hitches heavily as she pulls herself down a few notches. It’s not about her. She pulls his hand away, and groans at the cold rush it leaves in its wake.

“Lie down,” she instructs. “Properly.”

She grinds her teeth and knots her hands into the sheets as she forces herself to move aside long enough for him to obey. She wants her own hands to replace his, to sooth the burning fire that’s been building for so long, but no. It won’t be long now, she tells herself. She seeks friction against the blankets, against her own heel. Fitz watches her steadily, mildly concerned at her obvious agony. She curses softly when he does nothing about it.

“Can I take these off?” she asks brusquely, gesturing at his pants.

There’s a moment’s hesitation, but then he nods. She deftly frees him of his belt, opens his fly, and maneuvers the pants down his legs, kissing as she goes. At the end of the bed she sits up again, and drops his pants to the floor. She looks back over him, the most comfortable she’s ever seen him naked: almost oblivious to it, in fact, and staring at her like she’s an angel. Oh, how she wants to see that expression change. It would be so easy. His stamina’s been impressive so far but she knows what she’s doing. She could unravel him in seconds.

But she doesn’t.

She crawls all the way back up his body, letting her hands and her lips and her tongue wander his torso until she’s laying almost flush against him, kissing his lips again. His hands are on her back – on the skin of her back. She writhes just so that he can feel her move, with every inch of him. Then she pulls back from the seemingly everlasting kiss.

“Are you ready?” she whispers. Physically, definitely, but his eyes are deep and desirous and terrified. She waits a long moment, their hearts pounding against each other. His hand on her back. Their hips pressed together. All this bare skin – exposure – trust – love. She waits. He nods.

She reaches over his shoulder to where the condoms are, and pulls one off the line.

“Jemma…” He closes his eyes as she runs a string of kisses back down his body, over his heaving chest, over his sensitive belly. She shuffles her seat further down his thighs.

“J- _Jemma_.”

He bucks a little, reacting to her proximity, as she tears the packet open. He’s so desperate, energetic, he’s going to burn out quickly but at this point he’s probably going to take her with him. Discarding the packaging, taking deep, cooling breaths, she reaches for his underwear.

“Jemma, _STOP.”_

She freezes immediately. Takes her hand off him. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, his hands clenched, his breaths tiny, shallow, rapid – almost hyperventilation. She crawls off him and hops off the bed, pacing a few laps beside it to calm herself down.

“Are you okay?” she asks as his breathing steadies and he opens his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Were you having a panic attack?”

He shakes his head and sits up, swinging around to sit upright on the edge of the bed, recovering.

“No, I don’t think so, I just – I just _freaked out_.”

“What spooked you?” She frowns.

He shrugs, but he’s flushed bright red, not with embarrassment, but shame. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Hey, now, there’s no need for that,” Simmons soothes, coming to sit beside him. She takes his hands in hers. “You were doing brilliantly. There’s no shame in freaking out. This is a big deal for you, and that’s okay.”

He nods, grateful for her understanding, and rests his head against her shoulder.

“I love you,” he mumbles, voice still a little teary.

“I love you,” she assures him, gently stroking the curls on the exposed side of his head. “Is there anything I can do? About what scared you?”

“I just don’t think I’m ready yet. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She kisses him lightly on the cheek, and raises his chin with a finger until he smiles slightly.

“Thanks, Jemma,” he says. “For tonight. It was really nice. I mean, intense. But good intense.”

“I’m glad.” Simmons smiles, and stands. “I’m going to go clean up a bit. I’ll be back in a minute. I asked Daisy to hook us up with Netflix if you want to pick something. Cuddling’s still okay, right?”

“Cuddling is excellent.”

“There’s looser clothes for you in the drawer, if you want.”

“Wow, you really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“I excel at preparation.”

Fitz shakes his head in awe at her seemingly boundless confidence and optimism as he turns his attention to the remote. It’s pulled away again a moment later when she pauses in the doorway to the bathroom.

“And Fitz –“ she offers him a saucier smirk. “If that was the preview, the feature film’s going to be _fantastic.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Event Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took ages! For various reasons, not just my nerves about writing smut...but the point is, here it is! Enjoy.

 

Physical matters between them calm down somewhat after that. Now that the question has been floated, she’s not trying as hard, and with the ball in his court, he errs on the side of caution rather than risk suggesting he’s more ready than he is. They settle into a rhythm, distracted by reality, and patient with each other as they are all but run off their feet trying to save the world.

Then, one day, there’s a rose.

One single, deep red rose waiting on her bench.

She’s been at Lincoln’s side in the med bay for hours, patching up after an attack, and she almost misses it in her gladness to leave the lab for the night and put the difficult day behind her. When it catches her eye, she waves for Lincoln not to wait, and approaches it slowly, studying it. She can’t name the breed, off the top of her head – she’s not a botanist after all – but she is definitely familiar with the colour. It’s the same, she’s almost sure, as the one from that night in the hotel room. That can’t be an accident.

Despite her long day, she can’t help but smile, and her step grows lighter at the thought of seeing him again, and of the possibilities the rose presents. If she is right, he is probably waiting – in his room, or hers? Probably his, because he would not want to seem presumptuous. Bless him. She barely stops to slip out of her lab coat on her way out the door, pace accelerating in her excitement.

When she knocks, he immediately pulls the door open.

“Fitz.” She’s almost embarrassingly breathless, and grinning.

“Jemma.”

He sounds surprised to see her, but perhaps he was just anxious about her picking up his cue: the preparations he has made suggest that he is anything but surprised. As he steps aside to let her into the room, Simmons sees that his bed is made up with unusual precision, and even the desk has received some attention. There’s another rose on his bedside table, and petals littered – albeit less generously than in the hotel room – over the covers.

“Sorry it’s not as nice as yours,” Fitz apologises. “I…didn’t have a lot of options.”

“It’s beautiful,” she assures him, suddenly wishing that she had taken the time to change or do her hair before showing up. At least she’d showered since the med bay. That would have to do.

Simmons doesn’t realise how long she’s been admiring his decorations, until he touches her arm, asking her to turn toward him. She does so, gladly, and is welcomed by the warm admiration in his gaze. Her excited grin settles into a content smile.

“Why now?” she asks. She can’t help it.

“Why not now?” Fitz returns simply, and she’s taken aback. Blushing at his own poeticism, he continues, and she wonders how many times he’d repeated the speech, having apparently anticipated that she would ask the question.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about…why I freaked out before.”

“It’s okay, you weren’t ready.”

“Yeah, no, I know, I have a - I have a thing, Jemma. A speech. But I mean, why wasn’t I ready? What would make me ready? I think I put too much thought into what it could mean, for me, and for you, and…for _us._ I guess I thought – maybe I worried – that you didn’t _really understand_ what it was, to me.

“To me, it’s…It’s more than the next step. It’s more than, physically embracing our connection. It’s- I’m – I’m gone on you, Jemma, I’m so in love with you and this, to me, is- is _confirmation_ of that. You know – it’s like, you know, a black hole. I mean it’s not _like_ a black hole, but…”

Flattered and confused, Simmons watches him sort through his thoughts. Nerves, plus probably her interruption, have shaken him, and he paces away from her a few steps to recover. He seems to find his place, then, and starts again, gesturing to help himself explain.

“Momentum, okay? We have momentum. Our relationship has, momentum, and it always has had, and then, it started changing, and then the change, okay, it increases exponentially. This – sex – to me, for us, is the epitome of change. It’s the point of no return.”

He meets her eyes, wondering if he’s having an impact. She studies his expression, and his words, and tilts her head.

“Are you comparing us sleeping together to crossing the event horizon?” she suggests. He inclines his head, his blush deepening, and she smiles softly. “That’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” he says. “I mean, good, great, you – you understand. That’s what was getting in my way, I think…”

Simmons steps up to him before he can wander off on another tangent, and brings his hands together in hers, pulling his attention down to her.

“Maybe it’s time to stop thinking,” she suggests.

“And just do,” he finishes.

“Exactly.”

They share a few breaths like that, right up in each other’s space, staring deep into each other’s eyes…and eventually, Fitz steps forward and cups her face in his hands and he’s kissing her as easily as breathing. They’re so familiar with it now, she pushes back and they move together, kissing and breathing in one long dance.

Their hearts begin to race, and Simmons smiles against his lips. She runs her fingers down his buttons, and to the waist of his jeans, and he pushes forward, encouraging her. She gleefully tugs his shirt free, exploring his skin in between attempts by her hungry fingers to pry his belt open.

“Wait- wait-“ Fitz insists. Simmons tries not to let her disappointment show, that they might be stopping before they even really started, but to her pleasant surprise he’s only pausing to check on their safety situation.

“I forgot- I left the condoms in the bathroom,” he scolds himself.

“Don’t worry,” she assures him. “I’ve got it covered.”

He nods, relieved that he hasn’t messed anything up, and that he won’t have to step outside of the warm kiss-haze even for a second. Breathing in the entrancing air, he leans in again, and they pick up right where they left off – if not a little further along.

Fitz’ hands help guide Simmons’ shirt over her head. Her hands tug his pants down, and their discarded clothes are abandoned to the floor as they collapse together onto the bed, and Simmons pulls him over the top of her. She digs her nails in a little deeper, and pushes back a little harder, encouraging him to strengthen his touch as the air between them heats up.

When he pulls back for a second, she whimpers at the loss of contact, but gasps for an unobstructed breath. His own chest is heaving as, braced over her by the strength of his arms, he drinks in her fluttering eyelids, and the rapid rise and fall of the lopsided bow in the centre of an aging, greying bra. Despite the unflattering light of his base bedroom, the smooth, pale skin beneath its lace draws his lips, and he finds it’s easier and easier to do and not think as he reaches behind her and unclasps the bra. Simmons arches her back, and tangles her hands in the sheets to stop herself pulling him back to her lips or down lower as he takes his time kissing his way down her collarbone, to her breasts, and over them, and down her sternum…

The material of the bra gets in the way a little, but he makes a note to come back to that once their position allows. He kisses lower and lower, pressing their bodies against each other as he goes. His hands are torn between holding hers - in the blankets, out of the way – and touching her as much as possible, to commit her shape to memory. Their decision is made when her back arches off the bed, involuntarily this time, and he sweeps his arms under her, to hold her up, and feel the way her muscles move as his tongue brushes over her sensitive navel.

Simmons gasps and abandons her grip on the sheets, finally giving in to the temptation to grab at the hair at the back of his head with one hand, and to make him pay attention to where, with the other, she is scratching at the waist of her jeans. Now Fitz presses a kiss firmly against her belly, and she feels him slowly stretch a smile against her flesh as he heeds her request, and pulls her pants down toward her knees.

“’s’at what you wanted?” he breathes, a hand brushing over her wet knickers, and pushing back where she presses against him.

“You remembered,” she praises, smiling back as he crawls back up her body, still with one hand between her legs.

“Mm, I looked up a few things,” he purrs, as he kisses up her neck to her ear, and she laughs.

“My lips are over here, Fitz,” she instructs.

“You want me to kiss your lips?” He goes back to her neck and kisses up the other side, just in case she prefers that option. As per usual, she opts for a third, and pulls back from him, pressing into the mattress, enough to extract her already loose bra from between them and throw it away, off the bed.

Fitz doesn’t need telling twice. He kisses and kisses and nips and sucks and her breath shudders under his ministrations. She moves a hand to where his rests between her legs, so that he doesn’t forget to move it while he’s thinking about how she tastes – like metal and antiseptic and strawberry soap and cotton, and roses, and all the things that have ever reminded him of her.

Simmons doesn’t realise, until she’s right on the edge, on the very verge of screaming, that Fitz is still wearing his shirt and boxers. She scrambles for a grip on the waistband, and he seems to recognise her intent, and helps her pull them out of the way.

Fitz groans as Simmons wraps a hand around his erection. The sudden rush of air and the relief, the _contact,_ after all this friction and teasing is almost enough to push him over the edge. He bites his lip.

 _“Jemma,”_ he hisses, and she draws her hand downward, and he can feel his heart in his throat. He groans. _“Jemmaaa.”_

“Ready?” she challenges, a sparkle in her eye. Fitz struggles to regulate his breathing; there’s not going to be much to be ready for if she doesn’t hurry up. He’s already pushing toward her, thrusting, instincts trying to take over. When she finally does align him, he pushes deeply, hungrily inside her, and swallows her moan, loud and grateful, with his lips.

-

They don’t last long after that, with the build-up and the heightened electricity of the First Time combining to send first Fitz and then Simmons into the spinning bliss of orgasm.

When they come down, and rest, and the cloudiness clears, Fitz staggers off for a shower, and Simmons lets her limbs splay out. The smile refuses to be wiped off her face, so she keeps it, and drapes his shirt over her shoulders – it is the middle of the night, after all - and pads out to the kitchen. Water. They need water. He probably wouldn’t have thought of that. And, knowing Fitz, he’d want food.

She scuttles back to bed, satisfied with finding a way to take part in the preparations for the evening, if posthumously, and resumes her blissful spread-eagle, and she’s even drifting off by the time he climbs back into bed. She passes a glass of water to him from the bedside, and he drinks it gratefully.

“How did you find that?” she checks, though if the blush and the smile are anything to go by, his answer wouldn’t be anything but positive. He shakes his head, unable to find words to properly express the nuances of the feeling.

“Good,” is what he settles on. “Really good. A lot more tiring than I thought though.”

“We can work on that,” Simmons promises, offering him a bowl of trail mix, and switching his now empty glass of water for a full one. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She crawls up his chest a little, and settles like a cat, and Fitz watches her in awe, and eats and drinks – as quietly as possible - and lets his mind return to thinking as Simmons lets herself drift off to sleep in his arms.


End file.
